A Faded Photograph
by Honour Society
Summary: They would never be the perfect couple. Not even close. She probably wouldn't even remember anything the next morning. Blair and Eric. An unlikely couple, for sure. But one nonetheless. Blaric. Mentions of B/N and S/N. Mild language and content.
1. Life After Nate Archibald

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **TV-verse. I'm sure lots of people are going to hate me for shipping this pairing, but I do. I'm quite sure there's no other Blaric fans around here ('cept for you Haritha, you better enjoy this, girlie!), but maybe (?) this will be enjoyable nonetheless. Set right after the pilot. A TwoShot.

**Prompts used:**a hershey's kiss and a Sunday afternoon at the Met.

**DISCLAIMER:** Nothing is owned by me. If it was, the TV series would have another main character: Sweetie, Chuck's shoulder-climbing monkey. ;)

**A FADED PHOTOGRAPH **

-A Gossip Girl TwoShot by: Honour Society

**PART ONE**

**Life Without Nate Archibald**

It was with a heart full of misery and longing that the city's favourite petite brunette stomped across the freshly-waxed halls of The Met. Pointedly ignoring the various bright yellow caution signs below eye-level, the self-professed queen begun pacing around the room. Several tourists - their I Heart New York tees a telltale sign - looked away from the inspiring paintings to survey the seventeen-year-old heartbreaker's misery.

One particularly brazen museum-goer mustered up the courage to ask the brown-haired beauty if she was lost. The teen socialite's brown eyes immediately hardened. Her red-painted lips parted and a nasty comeback that would've made Truman Capote keel over laughing in his grave was about to slip out. A warm hand on her shoulder made her mouth snap shut.

"Blair Waldorf," he stated. On the two inch heels of her pearl grey Belle by Sigerson Morrison boots, she turned to face the blond-highlighted boy. Her best friend's - scratch that, _ex_-best friend's - kid brother.

"Eric." She smiled tightly. "Long time, no see. How was Malibu?" A brief glance over her shoulder revealed that the nosy tourist was gone. Blair tried to relax. But it was near impossible. For one, she was _Eleanor Waldorf's daughter_. It was practically written in her genetic coding for her to be a frigid, uptight bitch. For another, _hello. _Her boyfriend and future-husband had totally cheated on her with her _best friend. _It was like a dry, used-up plot line from _One Tree Hill _or, even worse, _Beverly Hills 90210. _

Of course, she was positive that in ten years this whole Serena debacle would be merely a quip shared with their two-point-five children.

"Miami," he correctly quickly. She rolled her eyes. Malibu, Miami. Who cared? Was there even a difference? Neither of them was in New York, let alone on the East Coast, so she couldn't give a shit.

"Right." She was losing patience all too quickly. Her head was going to explode. Just pop off and explode. Wouldn't Page Six have a field day with that one? 'Heiress to fashion design fortune dies of spontaneous combustion.'

After politely muttering some half-assed excuse about a hair appointment, the brunette began to walk away in long strides. Her dark hair - which had just been trimmed, shaped, styled and coloured yesterday - flew about her shoulders like a kite. Albeit a kite that was very pricey to maintain.

"Wait."

That hand on her shoulder again.

Rolling her eyes exaggeratedly and placing a manicured, creamy smooth hand on her hip, she spun around in a circle to face him. His brown eyes seemed sadder than they did before his little trip. Back in the days when Serena and Blair were SerenaandBlair - Blair always the afterthought. Now, it's Blair and Serena. As in 'Blair _despises _Serena,' or, perhaps, 'Blair _loathes _Serena with all her soul.'

"What is it?" she said, her brown eyes blazing. She knew she looked good, even on the worst of the worst days, a red plaid headband still sat jauntily atop her trademark curls, so it should have come as no shock the way he looked at her. The way her stared at her like she mattered. Like the name 'Serena van der Woodsen' was unknown to him. It made her happy. When he didn't respond, she added in a more gentle tone, "What, Eric?"

"Nate did something, didn't he?" Eric asked, a hank of brown-blond hair falling in his eyes adorably. She looked down at the suede toes of her knee-high boots.

Was it so obvious? Was 'Nate's an asswipe' written across her forehead in indelible ink or something? Blair couldn't meet his eyes. He was Serena's little brother. He would take her side - defend that conniving blonde.

Ever since they were kids, Eric had been constantly tagging along. Even when they went on spur-of-the-moment jaunts to Barney's or Warren Tricomi's. Secretly, she suspected he was gay. Blair mentioned it to Serena once - when both girls had downed six flutes of champagne in a row. The buzzed blonde merely cackled. "As if," she had said with a flick of her glossy hair. Distractedly, Serena winked at a passing cute waiter, before snapping back to attention. "He likes you way too much to be gay."

Blair didn't have to answer. He asked the question in a way that told her he already knew what the answer was. Eric held on to his leather messenger bag tighter. Teeth clenched, his eyebrows furrowed. It looked like he was thinking a thousand things a second. It occured to her to ask what he was wondering about, but she decided against it. Whatever it was, she probably didn't want to know.

"Look, I've got to go." She hitched a thumb over her shoulder. "I'm going to be late."

Almost smirking, he asked, "Late for what? Your imaginary hair cut?"

Her signature smirk lit up her entire face, showing off the dimples she despised so much. "Okay, you caught me." She held her palms up. "I don't have anywhere to be, as pathetic as that sounds."

"Yeah, you do," he said in a small voice. "Right here."

And she smiled again. Blair imagined that her insides, her organs were smiling, too. Every last inch of her was glowing. It was nice to talk to Eric. After Serena left without saying goodbye or anything, any friendship they might have shared melted away into the grimy sewers of New York.

"Thanks." She really meant it, for once in her life.

He began to rifle through his cluttered bag. A packet of Kleenex twirled to the floor, as did his St. Jude's student ID card and a faded photograph of the trio - Blair, Serena and a much-younger-looking Eric. It flattered her that he kept it. Even if it only served to remind her of how photogenic Serena was and how photogenic she was not.

"Here." Eric held a single Hershey's Kiss wrapped in silver foil in the palm of his hand. "It's not much, but..."

"Thanks." Blair rolled her eyes. God. Was she always this repetitive? "Again." Using two fingers, she pinched the paper tail sticking out of the candy and moved it into her own hand. After removing the foil and paper, she dropped the chocolate into her mouth and swallowed. Blair didn't even plan on barfing it out later.

Maybe Life After Nate Archibald wouldn't be so bad after all.


	2. Blair's Magic

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **Thanks for the reviews, guys. It means a lot. Hope this doesn't dissapoint. It's a little more angsty than the first chapter, but...

**PROMPTS USED: **A pair of red silk boxers and a final letter.

**DISCLAIMER:** Still don't own anything.

**PART TWO**

**Blair's Magic**

"I don't know about youuuu," Blair Waldorf said with a dainty flick of the wrist - almost like she was wielding a magic wand. "But _I _need a drink." The brunette then decided to go drain the van der Woodsen's liquor cabinet - of its exact location a pre-boarding school Serena had shown her to on many a Friday night. Her French-manicured finger trailed over label after label of vintage wine and other pleasures. She stopped when she reached a relatively new bottle of tequila.

Eric fretted. Blair was not a good drunk. She could handle champagne and fine wine like no other. He knew from watching her - _not that was ever watching her _- interact with fellow celebutantes, Constance-Billard peers and the under-20 and worth over 20-mill set. Tequila was a whole nother thing.

"Are you sure about that?" he asked. She cradled the neck of the bottle lovingly, like it was her adopted child. Blair's eyes narrowed.

"Of course I'm sure." On second thought, the current UES queen added, "I'm Blair Waldorf." As if that was explanation enough. He shrugged. She was the older one, here. _She _was supposed to be telling _him_ that consuming the elixir of the Gods was a poor idea. Not the other way around.

"_Of course_," he mocked, raising his voice to match her girlie lilt. Looking affronted, she placed a delicate hand on her chest. Without saying anything, she began to march down the empty halls of the penthouse. If Lily could see the scene...Blair's boots would be hurled out the window, where they couldn't leave any tracks on the Spanish-imported carpet. Lily van der Woodsen was a complete clean freak. She liked everything neat, organized. _Perfect. _He also knew that Lily wished she was Blair's mother.

"So this is your room," she announced. His eyebrows hit his hairline as he scrambled to catch up with the speed-walker. When he finally did, aforementioned speed-walker had already taken a seat on his thankfully-made bed. What would anyone do without a house staff?

It was complete chaos. He expected that his messy corner of the Earth was the polar opposite of hers. All her books were probably in alphabetic order. Hell, her _underwear _was probably colour-coded or something weird like that. Eric blushed to his roots when he realized he'd been thinking about her underwear.

He snapped back to reality and was greeted with a quizzical look from Blair. He shrugged. She shrugged and took a long, bitter swig from the bottle. It was then that he realized how drunk she was - the bottle was less than half-full. Or, almost half-empty depending on how you saw things.

"Come sit," she drawled, tripping over her words. At least she didn't dissolve into giggles like Serena did when drunk - which happened a lot pre-boarding school. He obeyed.

Blair's head tilted; she was looking at something intently. "Eric?" she inquired flatly, tilting her head back to an upright position. "Why do you have..._that_?"

Ugh.

He thought he'd thrown those away.

For his thirteenth birthday, the year Serena claimed he "finally" became a man, the bubbly blond entity that was his sister took it upon herself to give him a pair of red silk boxers. She thought it was hilarious. No one else seemed to think so.

He chose not to answer that, instead bowing his head. Several strands of highlighted hair fell into his face. In an almost motherly act, Blair leaned over and brushed them away. It would be a lot easier to handle this situation if he thought of her like a mother. Like his sister's best friend. But she'd always be Blair Waldorf to him. An enigma, hidden behind curls and lip-liner and lace.

"Have you ever kissed a girl?"

Eric flushed a rosy shade of red. "Yes. 'Course I have," he lied. She saw right through it and shook her head in front of his face.

"Tsk, tsk, Mr. van der Woodsen." She waved a finger like a teacher might if a student was being...naughty. "You musn't tell lies. Or then you'll just be like Serena..."

An idea popped into her head. "Have you ever kissed a Blair?"

"...No."

"Wanna try?"

And before he had the chance to answer, her ruby-red lips were crushed against his and her more-experienced hands were pulling at buttons. Apparently, his earlier thought about Blair and her magic was true. She had magic fingers, magic lips. She was his first kiss with a girl and his last. The pair stopped short of doing anything they would later regret - not that Blair would ever remember - because of Blair's timely falling asleep.

Eric had dressed the underwear-clad beauty and called for a taxi to take her home, paying the man ahead of time and trusting that Blair's doorman would see her up to her suite.

After one suicide attempt, another one seemed inevitable. Eric realized he'd have to add someone's name to his final letter. Blair's.

It was a strange Sunday afternoon, that was for sure.

It was the Sunday afternoon that an Eric kissed a Blair.


End file.
